Chapter 52: Interrogation
The iron doors let out a loud groan as they opened, the sound echoing down the cold, damp halls of the dungeon. King Ivar stepped through, his figure big and intimidating, framed by the flickering light of the torches on the stone walls. Two guards followed behind him, each carrying trays of food. The smell of roasted meat and stale bread tried—but failed—to make the grim atmosphere a little less suffocating.
Apollo and Amari were in separate cells, both silent. Apollo wasn’t taking it well—he was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his fists clenching and unclenching as though he didn’t know where to channel all his frustration. Amari, on the other hand, sat cross-legged on the floor, looking calm enough on the surface but rigid, bracing himself like he knew something was coming.
The guards approached without care and practically threw the trays through the bars. One tray skidded right to Apollo’s feet. He stared at it for half a second before kicking it back toward the bars, sending food flying everywhere. Amari didn’t even flinch, his eyes just locked onto the tray sitting in his own cell, untouched.
"Eat," King Ivar said, his voice cutting through the heavy tension like it had blades on it. "You’re going to need your strength."
Apollo shot him the meanest glare he could muster but stayed silent. He clenched his fists tighter, letting his anger speak for itself. Amari didn’t break eye contact with the king, meeting his intimidating stare with a calm, steady look.
"I know who you are," Ivar said, his tone carrying a mix of judgment and disappointment. "Erling let you into my village, even though I specifically ordered him to send you away. Why are you still here?"
Amari took a breath, got to his feet, and dusted himself off before answering. His tone was measured and deliberate—he wasn’t about to lose his cool. "We didn’t know, Your Majesty. Erling never said anything about being sent away. Freyr took us in because we were hurt—on the verge of dying. We needed help."
For a second, something flashed across Ivar’s face. Was it doubt? Curiosity? Annoyance? Hard to say. He crossed his arms, studying Amari like he was trying to figure out if the boy was lying or just stupid.
"Injured or not, that doesn’t explain why everything’s gone to hell since you got here," Ivar said, his voice sharp. "My village is hanging by a thread, my people are restless, and now you sit in my dungeon, asking for sympathy."
Amari didn’t budge. His back straightened, and his tone grew even calmer. "We didn’t mean for any of this to happen. We came because we had no other options. We were desperate."